


For That Smile

by cleo4u2, xantissa



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rimming, mentions of past physical abuse, sneezes, traumatized Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 17:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14773679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: The Winter Soldier finally comes home to Steve. He's broken and battered, but he remembers them, their love, and Steve. Steve can't help but give him everything he wants.





	For That Smile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/gifts).



> This is a commission for the incomparable [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/profile). All hair the wonderful Glow Cloud!

_Click._

Scrunching his eyes closed, Steve tried to keep his breathing even. The soft sound had torn him from a solid sleep, but his insomnia wasn't uncommon. Even two years after being defrosted, Steve’s instincts from the war made every little bump in the night a threat. He was used to it, used to the moments afterward, trying to get back to sleep, telling his mind and body the war was over, and he was safe.

He was in D.C., a brand new apartment. There were no S.H.I.E.L.D. bugs, no spying agents, because S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone. He was alone. He was safe.

Leather brushed against drywall and Steve stopped pretending to sleep. Sitting up, the handgun under his pillow in hand, he swung in the direction of the noise to find the threat. The safety clicked off, someone drew a gun from a holster, and Steve found himself feet from the muzzle of a sub-machine gun. He held still, his own weapon pointed at the intruder, and followed the hand, up the black, leather clad arm, to the shoulder, and face. Even covered in mirrored goggles and the half-mask muzzle, Steve knew Bucky on sight. He still wasn't sure how he had not seen it right away on the bridge; blamed it on the bus to his head. Now he knew better and there was no concussion.

“Bucky,” Steve whispered.

The name didn't have any visible effect. The gun was held steady, Bucky’s finger on the trigger. Steve knew he should try to subdue his old friend, take him in to… whoever was in charge now. Natasha would know, and Steve could do it, dodge to the side while firing, distracting Bucky and getting out of the way of retaliation. He would take a hit, but it wouldn't be fatal. Then he could get Bucky in a submission hold, he had done it before; put him down, get him somewhere he safe…

Steve lowered his gun. More than hearing his name, that had an effect on whoever was inside Bucky's skull. The submachine gun was smoothly holstered, tucked back onto Bucky’s leather clad thigh. Only the moonlight coming through the window - the now open window missing it's screen - and the glint of steel and well oiled leather told him what was happening at all. If Bucky was standing down, though, Steve didn't know why he was here. It had been a week since the Triskelion. Surely if Bucky had planned to turn himself in, he would have done so before now.

Looking at Bucky now, standing there staring blankly at the floor, Steve could see little left of his best friend and former lover. His hair was the biggest change, not just the length, but how little care Bucky had been taking of it. He’d always been fastidious about his appearance. The stillness, too was strange. Even after he'd adopted the image stillness of a sniper, he'd never been like _this._ The only part of him that moved was his chest, a slight rise and fall that was all that suggested he was even alive. There were some changes that would have been good, except on the light of why they existed: Bucky’s new muscle bulk and perfectly straight teeth. Why had Hydra bothered to fix his damn teeth? The thought bothered Steve more than he could express.

“Bucky?” Steve tried again after they had both been motionless for what felt like all his years in the the ice, but could only have been a few seconds. “Why are you here?” There was still no reaction, so Steve tried, “Do you need something?”

“Maintenance.” Bucky’s voice rasped from behind his mask, muffled but clear enough to understand. “This body is damaged.”

Steve was at once thrilled and horrified by the answer. Thrilled because Bucky had come to him for help before anyone else. Horrified, because of how Bucky was referring to himself. There was no connection, no ownership.

Swallowing hard, Steve swing his legs off the side of the bed.

“Come here,” he urged. “Sit, show me.”

Commands were apparently easy for Bucky to handle. He sat where Stee’s legs had been and started stripping away the black, tactical vest. The amount of straps and buckles was impressive, fascinating Steve as Bucky’s deft fingers made quick work stripping the garment off.

It didn't escape his notice that he wasn't removing his mask, or goggles, or weapons, but Steve pushed the thought aside as he caught sight of the “maintenance" that Bucky had come seeking. A deep, jagged line sliced sliced across Bucky’s side. It was still bleeding, sluggish and dark, whatever serum in Bucky already on its way to healing him. Steve himself had had much worse go untreated, knowing with a little pressure and time he would be fine. Maybe Bucky didn't know that, but Steve found it unlikely; a soldier had to know their own capabilities to perform at their best. Yet, if Bucky knew and had still sought him out? The ramifications had Steve abandoning his last, few thoughts of turning Bucky in, or calling Nat, or even Sam. No, if Bucky had come to him for help, Steve wouldn't betray him.

“You're gonna be fine,” Steve promised, coaching his voice low and gentle. “Let's move to the bathroom, get you clean and patched up, and you can tell me how this happened.”

Steve took Bucky’s nod as assent and led him to the master bathroom that he was pretty sure was the size of their old place in DUMBO. The shower alone could fit him and Bucky (and their oversized shoulders) with plenty of room to spare. It had a bench, like the bathhouse in Europe, for Christ's sake, not that Steve planned to use it. No, the tub with its Jacuzzi jets was Steve's goal. It wasn't that he was opposed to the mutual nudity that the shower would require, it was that he liked the thought a little too much. Bucky’s skin and body so near him had his cock twitching after so damn long without. He was only human, but he wasn't going to subject Bucky to that, not when Steve wasn't sure he was even remembered, or what they had had even made sense to Bucky. Just because he still had a relationship with Bucky, didn't mean Bucky had one with him. There had to be something there, though, or Bucky never would have come.

Guiding Bucky to the toilet, Steve got him to sit and started drawing a bath. Soon steam poured from the tub, clouding the glass and metal decorating the room. Steve kept his eyes on Bucky, idly taking the water's temperature as it rose higher. He was looking for anything that would suggest Bucky was operating as anything other than the killing machine Hydra had made him. If there was anything other than his non threatening presence, Steve didn't see it. The man just sat where he'd been put, expression slack. He wasn't even trying to stop the wound in his side from bleeding, though Steve imagined another command would make him. The thing was, Steve didn't want to _make_ Bucky do anything, so if he could help it, he wouldn't. Since the wound wasn't life threatening, he could avoid Bucky dancing on his strings, even if it was just a little. 

Since Bucky didn't seem to mind his gaze, Steve took in the one change he had tried not to think too hard on: Bucky’s metal arm and shoulder. His file had said he'd lost it in the fall with the rest removed so they could anchor the arm to his flesh and bone. It was beautiful and intimidating, a perfect mirror to the original, thick with imitated muscle. And the scars... Their life in Brooklyn had been hard, they'd had plenty of scrapes, but these… A network of them radiated from where the arm connected to Bucky’s body. They weren't surgical scars, either. They were raw, varying in length and shape, more like the violent destruction caused by fire than a skilled hand. 

Steve was so focused on these new scars, he almost didn't notice what was missing. Only when he went looking for something familiar - the faded mark on Bucky’s neck from when the O’Malley brother’s went at him with broken bottles - and it there was nothing. The particular mark hadn't been too deep, but it had left a scar Steve had memorized and sketched a hundred times. Now it was gone. When he looked for the other blemishes that had made Bucky so perfect, he couldn't find them. There was either smooth skin, or horrifying scars, no history, no past. Like Bucky had sprung from his disfiguring brand new.

Feeling uneasy, Steve looked away and checked the water level. Full, Steve took a fortifying breath and approached Bucky cautiously. He needn’t have bothered. There was still nothing there, Bucky nothing but a puppet cut from its strings. He didn't even make eye contact as Steve knelt beside him, touched his knee, and reached for the goggles shielding the upper half of his face. They came away with a tug and soft click, granting Steve the opportunity to see Bucky's eyes at long last. They'd always been Steve’s favorite, blue like the ocean, and so expressive. No matter what he'd said or did, Steve could see the truth in Bucky’s eyes. Now they were glassy, but they didn't have the unnatural stillness of the rest of him. They darted to the floor, to Steve's hand, to his mouth, to the bath, to the door, but they weren't frightened. No, this was Bucky’s mind making up for the rest of him, moving a million miles a minute.

Licking his lips, not daring to hope Bucky’s eyes told a truth the man wanted kept secret, Steve set the goggles on the counter and reached for the mask. No, _muzzle_ ; it wasn't a mask. Steve froze, however, when Bucky's eyes locked on his own. It wasn't a flinch, not by definition, but Steve could see the hesitation in Bucky's gaze.

“Can't take a bath in your clothes, Buck,” Steve said gently. “Gotta get you clean before I can patch you up. When was the last time you showered?”

“Data unknown,” Bucky supplied, his voice cold, but his eyes had softened and turned away, returned to their rapid movement about the room. That was enough to keep the nausea that settled in Steve's stomach at the answer from becoming a whole new problem.

Steve finished the movement he had aborted earlier, and soon the muzzle joined the goggles. Bucky didn't look like he had shaved since they'd last seen each other, and Steve had to push aside a thought of who had shaved him for their last meeting. It didn't matter. What mattered was that Bucky’s face was somehow, blessedly, the same as it had always been. The bow of his lips, the curve of his nose, sharp cheekbones and dimpled chin. The crows feet were new, like the white in Bucky’s beard, but Steve liked it. He was just as handsome, maybe more so, giving Errol Flynn a real run for his money now.

Standing again, Steve motioned toward the tub. 

“Strip and get in.” Bucky stood, stripping before Steve had finished his sentence, and Steve had to make an effort not to ogle. “You okay to handle this on your own?”

“Handle what?” Bucky asked. 

Steve blew out a long breath through his nose. He'd been hoping to avoid temptation, but it seemed his luck had run out.

“Nothing, just get in.”

Like every other order, Bucky immediately complied. Yet as he climbed into the warm water, Bucky’s impassivity snapped. He hissed, gritting his teeth as he lowered himself down, then groaned as he slowly leaned back. It was so _human_ , Steve's heart began to pound against his ribs. Yet, he swallowed down his questions, his demands, not wanting to spook Bucky. Not when he was closing his eyes, tipping his head back, and looking to be actually enjoying himself. Steve was sure that bringing up his performance would scare him, too, if he'd kept it up so staunchly. That was the last thing Steve wanted to do.

Grabbing his soap, a washcloth, a towel, and his shampoo, Steve knelt beside the high edge of porcelain. He was glad for his extra foot of height, as being five foot four would have made this a lot harder. 

Now that Steve was close again, Bucky had sat up, watching him and eyeing the supplies at the same time.

“For your hair,” Steve explained, holding out the pink bottle, and doubly glad he hadn't grabbed his razor as well. 

Bucky’s eyes flicked over the soap and washcloth, then up to Steve's face as he tentatively took the bottle from his hand. It was heartbreaking, watching the fear and wariness in those blue eyes. It wasn't that Bucky hadn't been a cautious guy, but he'd never been afraid of Steve until this moment. Not even when Steve had pinned him to the glass of a Helicarrier had he seen this look.

As Steve fought nausea, the memory of snapping bones, and Bucky's scream, Bucky snapped the cap on the bottle open and sniffed tentatively. Then he sniffed again, deeper, and sneezed. The completely baffled look on Bucky’s face made Steve want to both laugh and cry, but he bit down hard on his tongue to suppress both. It was impossible, though, when Bucky sneezed twice more in rapid succession, then shoved the bottle at Steve like it was poison after all. 

Steve took the pink bottle and said, “Bless you.”

Slowly, Bucky’s shoulders came down from his ears, his gaze meeting Steve’s with no little trepidation.

“It's… okay?” Bucky asked, his first words in ages, soft and hesitant, and Steve really had to fight the tears then. Who the hell got mad over a sneeze?

“Yeah, Buck, it's okay. You can sneeze, alright? Scent’s pretty strong, huh?”

A tentative nod had Steve smiling if for no other reason that Bucky was communicating with him. Between the sneezes and his nudity, Bucky didn't look very imposing anymore, just small and vulnerable. It at once made Steve want to wrap him in blankets and break the face of anyone who had ever hurt him. Even after rescuing Bucky from his Austrian prison, Steve hadn't felt this protective.

“Don't worry, it's not so bad when it's not right in front of your nose. Keep your eyes shut, now. We don't want this dripping into them.”

Bucky didn't look convinced, but he followed Steve's instructions to wet his hair, and then sat still as Steve created a thick lather with all Bucky’s hair piled atop his head. The stillness slowly melted as Steve worked his fingers through the thick mop to massage the soap into Bucky’s scalp. He might not be himself, but Steve was well acquainted with Bucky’s vanity and wasn't about to let him down. This Bucky at least appreciated the massage, leaning back, sliding down the tub’s side in boneless bliss, a smile actually tugging up his lips. The sight had Steve slowing down, drawing out the process. He hadn't seen this Bucky smile, and he wondered when the last time anyone had touched him kindly. Steve sure remembered the last time he'd gotten the chance: the hurried, half-terrified groping in a tent high in the Alps the night before everything had gone to hell. Half of him had been convinced the snow about them would melt just from their heat. It had been a surprise when it didn't.

The shuddery breath that escaped Steve's chest had Bucky’s eyes opening.

“Close your eyes,” Steve huffed, and rolled his own when Bucky chose _this_ to be the order he refused. “Soap in your eyes is gonna sting like hell, Buck. Close your eyes.”

Though a frown twisted his face, Bucky closed his eyes. Then he surprised Steve by speaking again.

“You are distressed. Why?”

“You haven't done anything wrong,” Steve quickly assured. 

“But why?” Bucky insisted, on the edge of defiant, and Steve couldn't help but smile despite his melancholy thoughts.

“I was thinking about the last time we were close like this. Do you... remember?” Steve's hands faltered in Bucky’s hair and Bucky went still again. “The tent? And the snow? Before… that last mission?”

“No,” Bucky whispered.

“That's okay,” Steve said quickly, forcing his hands to start moving again before deciding to change the subject entirely, “Let's get your hair rinsed.”

Apparently not needing an explanation, or an order this time, Bucky slid down in the tub, submerging all but his nose and mouth. Steve set to work massaging the long strands, working out the shampoo, sliding his fingers through the tangled locks. It was an effort not to pull, to keep the contact gentle, when there were so many knots. Wherever Bucky had been, he hadn't had access to a brush, or maybe he just didn't know better any more. Either way, he knew to sit up when Steve pulled his hands away, wipe the water from his eyes, and then reach for the soap and washcloth. 

It was almost disappointing, not being able to help with the rest of Bucky's bath, but Steve consoled himself by finding a comb and starting in on the rat’s nest Bucky was calling his hair. Starting at the bottom, he worked upward inch by inch, section by section. It wasn't possible to never pull, but Steve thought he'd done a damned good job, only drawing a quickly-covered hiss from Bucky a time or two. 

Steve didn't notice the time passing as he worked, but it must have taken a good while as his hand cramped when he went to put the comb down. Steam no longer rose from the soapy, dingy water, and Bucky had set aside the washcloth and soap at some point. He hadn't even remembered to ask Bucky how he'd gotten hurt. 

Clearing his throat, embarrassed, Steve stood and grabbed a towel.

“Let's get you dry and I'll see if your side still needs looking after.”

Something like guilt flickered in Bucky’s gaze as he stood. Proof, Steve thought, that Bucky knew the injury was minor. Steve didn't much care, of course. Any excuse Bucky needed to come back to him, so long as he hadn't wounded himself.

“How'd it happen?”

As he stepped into the towel Steve held out, Bucky frowned. He also made no move to dry himself off, so Steve set to rubbing the fluffy cotton along Bucky’s arms.

“Failed attempt at reacquisition.”

Frowning at the cold words, Steve kept drying Bucky's chest, his back, and waist. It was only as he knelt to start on his legs did he realize what the words meant. With the towel wrapped about Bucky’s left thigh, he froze. Reacquisition. Someone - No, _Hydra_ had tried to claim Bucky as their own again, make him the Soldier, when he was so fragile, so vulnerable, hardly himself -

A heavy, cold hand settled on Steve's shoulder and he looked up to find Bucky staring at him with what could only be described as concern. 

“You did good, Buck,” Steve croaked. “Real good.”

Bucky’s surprised expression melted into a small smile. The metal hand squeezed his shoulder, then he straightened again, and looked at Steve expectantly. With the realization he was face-to-face with Bucky’s thick, cut cock, Steve flushed and worked twice as hard to get Bucky dry. It should have helped that he now knew Hydra was active _and_ after Bucky, but it didn't. Steve had been alone with his hand for over three years, and all he could think was how easy it would be to wrap his lips about Bucky’s cock. Not that he would, of course not. But he couldn't help think of it, and other times he'd gotten his mouth on Bucky. The sounds he made, the look in his eyes, his taste…

Swallowing his desire, Steve looked away as he stood. Part of him wished he could just send Bucky to bed and be done with it, but he was hurt, and who knew if he was eating, or how often, or…

Steve wanted to punch himself. _Bucky_ would know, all Steve had to do is ask.

“You hungry, Buck?” Steve asked, making himself look only at Bucky’s face.

Another tentative nod and Steve smiled, relieved that he could answer the question. After all he had seen tonight, he'd genuinely been worried Bucky hadn't eaten since the Triskelion, not knowing he needed to. Steve wouldn't have been surprised to find out that Hydra had only ever met his caloric intake through injections, or an I.V., or something equally dispassionate.

“Alright.” Steve laid his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and steered him towards the kitchen. “Lemme get you some pants, I'll see to your side, then get you fed.”

The only response Steve got was a quick glance, but that was more acknowledgement than he'd gotten before the bath. Progress, no matter how small, was important. 

Keeping his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, enjoying the warm skin beneath his palm, Steve guided him into a kitchen chair. He had to leave Bucky there to fetch a pair of sweats, but didn't rush. It was odd, but he was certain Bucky wouldn't leave yet. He didn't think he'd stay forever, but that moment wouldn't be for some time. And, sure enough, Bucky was still in his chair when Steve returned, blue sweats in hand. It was almost normal this time, too, with Bucky standing to take the garment from him without being asked. He even put them on and sat again, his gaze fixed on Steve, no longer darting or nervous. Trusting him enough now that he wasn't keeping up the act. 

The wound looked good, too. No longer bleeding, merely an angry red with dark black scabbing at the edges. It didn’t even need to be cleaned or bandaged. Steve guessed that in a few hours it wouldn’t exist at all. Gone, like the scars of their youth.

Turning away, Steve tried not to think about it. It was an oddly hollow feeling, knowing that no one knew the full truth of you. For most of his life there had been Bucky, who had known him as well as anyone could. Even when Steve had thought him dead, he hadn’t felt like this, not with Peggy and the Howlies at his back. The ice had changed everything. He was a man without an anchor, a past that had been picked over by historians and the public, but was still largely unknown. It was also a past with which few today could relate. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how hard he was hoping Bucky would remember him. Remember _them_.

Clearing his throat, desperate for a distraction, Steve started pulling food from the fridge.

“Your wound looks okay. We’ll get you fed and rested, though, alright?”

Steve nearly dropped the eggs when Bucky said, “Your name is Steve.”

Turning about, setting the eggs down, Steve found Bucky on his feet. He was shirtless and only a few feet away. Why he’d stood, or kept the shirt off, Steve hadn’t the foggiest idea, but he wasn’t going to complain about the view.

“I knew you.” Bucky was staring at him intensely, holding Steve’s gaze as powerfully as a magnet. “I _know_ you.”

“Yeah,” Steve’s mouth hadn’t ever felt this dry, “you know me. And I know you.”

A single step closer shouldn’t have made Steve need to lean against the counter, but it did.

“Bucky.”

“Yeah.” Couldn’t Steve manage more words than ‘yeah’? “You - we - “ No, apparently not.

“I’m your friend.”

The word Steve had used on the Helicarrier. It was true, had _always_ been true, but it didn’t begin to explain what they were. Partners, lovers, brothers-in-arms, companions, friends; none of it defined them just right. Soulmates came close, but looking at Bucky now, he couldn’t put that expectation on him.

“Bucky…”

Another step, turning Steve’s knees to jelly. Bucky was so close, so focused, so intense, and so beautiful, Steve could barely process it. He was _here_ , and Steve’s brain was melting. 

“Thing is...” The final step, but Steve barely noticed when Bucky’s hand reached for him, hooked into his belt loop, and pulled them impossibly close. Steve’s lips parted on a gasp, but Bucky wasn’t backing away. They were mere inches apart, so close Steve could clearly make out the gold flecks in Bucky’s eyes. “I don’t remember being _friends_.”

Steve’s eyes were wide open as Bucky moved forwards. It was a small thing, a mere brush of lips. Yet it took Steve’s breath away as he stared into Bucky’s piercing blue-grey eyes, so full of life once more. They weren’t dead or blank, staring at nothing; they looked into Steve as if they could see all of him laid bare there against the counter.

In a blink it was over. Bucky stood the same distance as he’d been before their lips touched, staring at him the same way, yet with further expectation. Steve had to question if he’d imagined it, but his lips still tingled and his hand had migrated to Bucky’s hip. He was holding on so tight, fingers sunk into hard muscles and soft skin. Bucky was leaning against him, solid and warm, and Steve tried to pull him closer even though there was no more room.

“You look different,” Bucky said, eyes focused and unmoving, “but you feel the same in my memories.”

“Feel?” Steve echoed, watching how the pink tip of Bucky’s tongue flicked out to moisten his lips. 

“Taste,” Bucky corrected himself. “You taste the same.”

Steve swallowed again, dragging his gaze from Bucky's mouth. It wasn't exactly the same, but the words were similar to what Bucky had said the first time they'd kissed after the Austrian base. Not that it looked like Bucky remembered that moment, like he hadn't remembered them together in the Alps. He remembered _something_ , though, and that something included them together. 

“The serum,” Steve explained, not sure if he even had to, but lost in Bucky’s eyes as well as his own thoughts, “it changed how I look.”

Steve might as well have not spoken. Bucky pushed closer, angling for what looked like another kiss. His eyelids were lowered, but he stared at Steve as if he might disappear if not watched carefully. Like Steve was fascinating, intriguing, and mysterious. Like Bucky would drink him in if he could. 

Under a gaze like that, Steve was helpless all but to let Bucky closer and their lips brush again. This time, it wasn't a fleeting caress. Bucky kissed him with hunger and desire, and Steve responded in kind. Hands pressed against his chest, groping more than anything else, but Steve didn't care. Bucky was opening against him, lips parting as his tongue flicked against them. Now he could really taste, exploring Bucky’s mouth until his tongue fought him back, pushing him back into his own mouth where Bucky’s kiss showed Steve just what was on Bucky’s mind. He thrust the slick muscle into Steve's mouth, fast and deep, leaving Steve breathless with his own want and need. It had been so long, so damn long, and Bucky was here; Bucky _wanted_ him.

Part of Steve said to stop, but that voice was so small he barely heard it as Bucky groaned and squeezed his pecs hard, sending a sharp arrow of heat down his spine. The counter dug into the small of Steve's back as Bucky pressed against him. The sheer want was a physical thing that poured off of Bucky in waves. It made him careless, reckless, and Steve loved being wanted so badly. 

Tangling his fingers in Bucky’s damp hair, he pulled, forcing Bucky away enough he could speak. Their chests heaved, Bucky’s hands brushing his own chest with each inhale as he never stopped his groping.

“Slow down.” He didn't want this to end in a frenzy of lust that ended too soon. “I’m not going anywhere. We got loads of time.”

Loosening his hold when Bucky stopped fighting it, Steve combed his fingers through the newly-clean, dark strands. Bucky visibly melted, eyes closing entirely, head dropping forward, as a soft groan left his lips. Like a cat, Steve thought fondly. Bucky had always reminded him of a cat; he hoped it wasn't the only thing that hadn't changed.

Carding his hands through Bucky’s hair, Steve asked, “Lemme get some food in you and we can -"

“Continue.”

Unable to do anything else, Steve smiled. 

“Yeah, Buck.”

“Do I get a say?”

Steve balked, and would have jerked away entirely if Bucky hadn’t trapped him against the counter.

“Of course you do!” 

The frown pulling at Bucky’s lips vanished, replaced by a small, secretive thing that Steve tried to memorize. He didn’t think he’d seen it before, but it was beautiful.

“Then I don’t wanna wait.”

Five words and Steve was tingling from head to toe. Steve tried to tell him the reaction was good, but it left Steve with a sinking sensation in his gut. Why did Bucky think he didn’t get a say? Just because Hydra had never given him one in his entire life, or because of something more sinister? Because they’d not given him a say of if he got to have sex.

“Bucky,” Steve said slowly, “did they… You remember having sex?” Bucky nodded and Steve took a deep breath. “With me, or someone else?”

Steve told himself the puzzled look on Bucky’s face was a good thing.

“I remember… you.”

It wasn’t much of an answer, but Steve needed to know, needed to reassure himself, that Bucky wasn’t here out of some old programming. He needed to be sure this was Bucky’s choice.

“Hydra never… they never,” Steve’s hand flopped uselessly, “made you have sex.”

“No,” Bucky said, easy as breathing, “I only remember you.”

Heart beating fast, relief pouring off him in waves, Steve couldn’t speak, just yanked Bucky into another hard, fast kiss. Though he’d wanted to make this last, he was desperate. Years without him, with only the memory of his hands and lips and skin, meant he couldn’t get enough now that Bucky was in his arms. Steve was a man stranded on a desert island and Bucky was his salvation. Even as he tried to memorize every sensation of his hands - new and old - his lips, and their bodies pressing together, Steve fell into the moment, helplessly and hopelessly.

Bucky’s nails scratched as they pulled and tugged at Steve’s clothes, then tossed one offending garment across the room after another. Naked, Steve shuddered, and chased after Bucky’s lips as he pulled back, then sank fluidly to his knees.

“Buck?”

Steve’s voice was a croak, like he’d been screaming or crying, but Bucky just smiled and slid his palms up Steve’s thighs. 

“I remember this,” he declared, a simple, happy twist to his lips that tugged at Steve’s heart. 

Opening his mouth to say something, the words died on his lips and fled his brain at the same time when Bucky’s lips pressed to his thigh, right next to his cock. All that left him was an airy, “Haa,” that would have been embarrassing if it was anyone but Bucky kneeling between his feet. 

Bucky’s kisses climbed higher, then switched legs, and Steve wrapped his fingers in all that long, wet hair. The hum Bucky let out sounded like approval, so Steve tugged, guiding Bucky’s mouth to where he ached. The first brush of Bucky’s tongue across his balls made Steve’s knees weak, his free hand clutching the counter to keep from crashing to the tile. Then Bucky was sucking, massaging Steve’s balls with his mouth, and pleasure raced through him like the blood in his veins. He swelled, hardening in moments, and his cock swung in the air above Bucky’s face.

Moaning Bucky’s name, Steve tugged at his hair again, and groaned when that had Bucky moaning as well. 

“Baby, please,” Steve pleaded. “It’s been so damn long…”

In years past that would have earned him a chiding, teasing comment that _Steve_ had been the one who wanted to wait. Now, Bucky glanced up at Steve beneath his fluttering eyelashes and then swallowed Steve’s cock whole. Shouting as his entire length disappeared down Bucky’s throat, Steve had barely processed how _good_ it felt when Bucky cringed away, tears streaming down his face, as he babbled. The babbling was interrupted by coughing so fierce it took Steve until he was kneeling before Bucky, reaching out to him, to understand what he was saying.

“I’m sorry,” he coughed out, again and again, “Please. I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

It was like being dropped back into the Arctic, freezing waters choking his lungs, and trapping his limbs. His cock agreed, flopping limp as he knelt, hands outstretched, and Bucky looked at him _with_ fear.

That look broke Steve free far faster than any heaters.

“Bucky, Bucky, _no_.” Going still, Bucky ducked his head, hiding behind all his glorious, long hair, and let Steve touch him at last. “Darling, you didn’t do anything wrong.” A peek of a single, blue eye, suspicious and hesitant forced Steve to smile. “Nothing at all. Everything’s okay.”

A pink tongue darted from between Bucky’s lips, wetting them, before disappearing again. Otherwise, Bucky didn’t move, sitting perfectly still. He was watching Steve, though, that horrible fear gone from his gaze. Heartened, Steve slowly gathered Bucky into his arms, tucking his head beneath Steve’s chin, and holding him as tight as he dared.

Bucky said, “I didn’t… do it right…”

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Steve tried to keep his voice from shaking.

“That’s okay. It’s too soon, is all.” He carded his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “Too soon. We’ll get you fed and rested-”

“You said I got a say.” Bucky shoved at Steve hard, knocking himself out of Steve’s arms. “I want _you_.” Before Steve could object, or suggest again that Bucky just wasn’t ready for sex, he whispered, “I remember this.”

A squirming guilt filled Steve’s belly because he knew he wasn’t going to say no now. Sam would be pissed, saying Bucky wasn’t in his right mind to even be able to choose, but Steve could see something Sam wouldn’t understand. If Steve said no, if he took this away from Bucky, not only would he never see his love again, he’d shatter what little bits Bucky had pulled together of his past.

“I lead,” Steve demanded, and Bucky nodded, relief crashing across his face and breaking Steve’s heart all over. He didn’t let that stop him from sliding his arms beneath Bucky, lifting him into a bridal carry, and heading for the bedroom. 

He had barely taken two steps before Bucky was touching him again, nails scraping lightly over his nape while the other groped at Steve’s pecs. Bucky’s lips pressed to his neck, finding that spot only Bucky ever found, beneath his left ear. He scraped his teeth over it, then latched his lips and sucked. 

“Jesus,” Steve groaned, stumbling hard enough he paused to lean on the wall. When Bucky didn’t stop, Steve had to force his legs to keep moving to get them to the bedroom. That spot had a direct line to his dick, making it throb with each flick of Bucky’s tongue. By the time Steve set Bucky on the bed, he was rock hard, pressing against his zipper, and it was harder to pry Bucky’s arms from about his neck than it should have been.

Taking Bucky’s chin in his hand, Steve kissed him hard. Bucky was sufficiently distracted licking into Steve’s mouth that Steve could get his fingers under the elastic of the borrowed sweats and pull them off. They had hardly hit the floor before Bucky was pulling away, turning over, and crawling up the bed. Steve’s eyes locked on Bucky’s perfectly round ass and thick, muscular thighs, hardly noticing that Bucky was peering back at him, lowering his chest, until heat shot through his entire body. Bucky was practically begging Steve to fuck him. 

It wasn’t like Steve hadn’t fucked Bucky before, it was just that it had been easier, for a lot of their life, for Bucky to do the fucking. But Bucky wanted him now, _remembered_ it like this, and Steve ached to get inside him. The press of his clothing was too much. He couldn’t get out of his clothes fast enough. Remembering that Bucky hadn’t had sex in seventy years was all that kept him from grabbing the lube and breaking their record of getting Bucky ready in two minutes flat. 

Putting a knee on the bed, Steve slowly worked his way closer, saying, “God, Buck, you look good enough to eat.”

Bucky’s eyes grew distant, darker, and he lowered his chest closer to the mattress.

“You used to…” Bucky focused on him again. “I liked that.”

“Me, too,” Steve admitted, sliding his hands up Bucky’s’ thighs one at a time. With Bucky’s cheeks in his hands, he squeezed, then spread them wide enough he could see his tight, furreled rim. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

Brushing his thumbs against Bucky’s rim, he pressed and then pulled, opening Bucky up a fraction. When Steve’s tongue brushed against his hole, he let out a shuddery gasp. It was quiet, barely heard, but as Steve’s tongue delves deeper, the next is louder, needy, and Steve was viscerally reminded why he loved doing this. Bucky had been so responsive, his muscles trembling as Steve’s tongue slid over his puffy rim, lapping at the tight edges, dipping inside the muscle over and over. Bucky was a wonderful mess, hands fisting in the sheets as Steve went to work. His hands slid over Bucky’s hips and back as he explored him with his tongue. 

Steve lost track of how long he eats Bucky. The sounds echoing in his apartment were heaven; Bucky whimpered and cried out, writhed and pushed back against Steve’s mouth. All his memories of this don’t compare with the real deal, with Bucky spread out and eager, keening as Steve wound him up tighter and tighter.

“Please!” Bucky shouted, the first word he’s spoken since asking for this torture. “Please, Stevie, _please_.”

There wasn’t a need for Bucky to say what he was begging for, Steve knew. While Steve wanted to keep going, to drive Bucky wild and have him come on just his tongue, he didn’t think Bucky could take that. Not this time. 

“Okay, doll, okay.” Steve pitched his voice soft and soothingly, sitting up and rubbing his hands up and down Bucky’s sides from thigh to chest. “I got you. I got what you need.”

Bucky’s mashed his face into the mattress, the neatly made spread a wreck from his wriggling and pulling. It was adorable, really, as was the whine Bucky let out as Steve pulled away, digging for the lube in the dresser drawer. Shushing Bucky, Steve settled back into place and liberally coated his fingers in slick, clear fluid. He won’t hurt Bucky, not ever.

Pressing his fingers between Bucky’s cheeks, Steve pushed one digit in as deep as it could go. Bucky reacted like he was being electrocuted, his body tensing and shuddering. It looked painful, but the shout he let out was pure pleasure. 

“Steve!”

“Relax,” Steve cooed. “Gonna be so good to you. So good.”

This time, Bucky whimpered Steve’s name, and Steve began slowly pulling his finger free. Bucky _shoved_ his ass back, making it so clear he wanted more and harder and _now_ , and Steve was happy to oblige. Bucky let out a long, low groan as Steve’s finger moved in and out of that silky, furnace-hot channel, clenching down on him. 

When he worked a second finger inside, Bucky sobbed, and Steve crooked both digits, pressing in small pulsing movements against that spot he remembered so well. Bucky lived up to his name, thrashing and shoving himself back onto Steve’s fingers. His muscles pulsed about Steve’s fingers, and Steve didn’t stop, massaging that spot, making Bucky breathe faster and harsher. 

“God, you make me so hard,” Steve gasped. 

Bucky’s reactions were driving him to the brink of his self-control. It wasn’t just that his fantasies were coming true, Bucky was _wild_. He wanted Steve, sex, this moment more than Steve could ever recall. Steve wanted to give him everything, eat him alive, leave him sated, soft and sore, unable to move because Steve had fucked him so well. 

He didn’t want Bucky to come yet, though. As Bucky’s cries reached a fever pitch, Steve pulled his fingers free. The cry of denied pleasure echoed through the room and Steve quickly got himself into position. Bucky wasn’t quite ready, not from just two fingers and a tongue, but Steve couldn’t wait any longer. 

“Oh, god,” Bucky gasped as he felt Steve’s tip press against his rim, “Yes - fuck - _yes_.” 

Heart pounding, Steve pushed forward and reveled in Bucky’s sharp gasp and full body jerk. Closing his eyes, he sank slowly into Bucky, trying to remember each and every and sensation. The way Bucky’s body slowly, rhythmically tightened about him. The way he shivered and pushed back onto Steve’s dick. The harsh breaths he forced through his mouth and the smell of his sweat, beading along his shoulders and dripping from his neck. 

“You’re so tight,” Steve said, his hips pressing against Bucky’s ass. “Jesus, Buck. I can’t -”

“Don’t,” Bucky practically shouted, “fuck me. God, _fuck me_.”

Steve didn’t have to be told twice. Making some effort to be gentle, he pulled out slowly, but Bucky ruined it when he shoved himself onto his elbows and slammed himself back onto Steve’s cock. The sudden friction drew a shout of pleasure from Steve, and he had to grip Bucky’s hips tightly to hold himself up. 

“Fuck,” Steve hissed, but got the hint. Drawing out, he slammed himself home. Bucky shouted, then again when Steve repeated his thrust. Each push of his cock into that tight, welcoming heat had Bucky shouting again, the room ringing with his pleasure. Steve’s chest filled with satisfaction. _He_ was doing that. He was giving Bucky everything he wanted, twisting him up and up, yet holding him just on the edge of an orgasm. 

When Steve finally pushed Bucky over that edge, Bucky’s arms gave out and he fell to the bed. Steve rode him down, chasing his own pleasure, his cock _aching_ with how hard Bucky’s body was squeezing him. The throbbing, clenching muscles wrung an orgasm from him before Bucky’s body calmed, and the pleasure was so intense Steve lost his ability to focus, to see, or control himself. Sparkling sensations danced from his cock, up his spine, and along his scalp as he came, spilling his seed inside Bucky’s limp, satisfied body.

“I love you,” Steve murmured.

Steve wasn’t sure how long it had been since they’d finished, his cock was softening, trapped by his body inside Bucky’s as he hadn’t rolled off him. His brain hadn’t quite come back online, and he was sure that’s why the words had slipped past his lips. Bucky said nothing, didn’t move. Steve thought his breath hitched, but it steadied so quickly he wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it. 

Sighing, Steve carefully slipped onto his side, then curled around Bucky protectively. Exhausted - and pretty damn satisfied himself - Steve took Bucky’s cue and closed his eyes. Part of him didn’t want to sleep, wanted to remain awake to ensure Bucky didn’t slip into the night again. The rest of him knew better. If Bucky wanted to stay, he’d stay. If he didn’t, there was nothing Steve could do to stop him. Trying would only chase him away faster.

The next morning, Steve’s worst fear was realised. Before he had even opened his eyes, Steve knew Bucky was gone. The familiar weight and warmth in his bed, the one that had allowed him to sleep the whole night through, was gone. 

Part of Steve had hoped it wouldn’t be true, but he’d known Bucky wouldn’t stay - couldn’t stay, not yet. Maybe not ever, not with the literal and figurative demons that chased him. 

“I’m waiting,” Steve whispered, curling his hand into the last of the warmth Bucky’s body had left behind. “I’m always waiting.”

The silence of his apartment was his only answer.

\----

Three weeks later and Steve wasn’t sure Bucky would ever come back. Then he came home to find Bucky in his living room, holding the shield in his hands. The clothes were different, though still black with several tell-tale bulges; modern. It suits Bucky in a way that made Steve ache for slacks, suspenders, and button downs. 

“It's heavier than I thought.”

The words jolted Steve where he stood in his open doorway because he hadn't thought Bucky knew he was even there. He shut the door, now that he knew it wouldn't make Bucky run. Still, he felt a little stupid for thinking the master assassin wouldn't notice the front door opening.

Carefully, because he wasn’t sure how Bucky would react to mentioning the Winter Soldier, Steve said, “You seemed to have no trouble last time.”

“I didn't mean weight.”

With reverence Steve wasn't sure the vibranium deserved, Bucky lowered the shield so it was once more propped against the arm of the couch. Steve could do nothing but stare as he turned, tilting his head so Steve could finally see beneath the black cap on his head. His eyes were clear, steady, if uncertain. It wasn’t his face that stole Steve’s breath, though, it was the words. The shield _was_ heavy, and Steve didn’t mean physically either.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably under Steve’s stare, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets, and Steve made himself turn and head for the kitchen. It wasn’t what he wanted to do. What he _wanted_ was to run to Bucky, hold him tight, ask the millions of questions that were trying to spill from his tongue. Steve was used to not getting what he wanted, though, and what Bucky needs was more important.

“Got groceries,” Steve called, as if the bags in his hands weren’t obvious, and that there was nothing special about this moment, “Want to help with dinner?”

“No.” 

Steve paused, the answer unexpected. It looked like casual conversation was out, but at least he had something to do with his hands. Setting down the bag , he started unloading the groceries into the cabinets.

“What do you want to do then?”

“You.”

Steve dropped the oranges he was holding. Then he turned, fixed a hard gaze on Bucky in the doorway, and said, “You disappear on me for two weeks and you don’t even say hello, but you want to fuck?”

Looking uncomfortable, Bucky shifted from foot to foot, the slant of his shoulders exactly as Steve remembered.

“I needed to deal with things in my head,” Bucky said. “Lost my sense of time for a while.”

Sighing, Steve picked up the fruit he’d dropped and set the lot in a basket on the counter. Part of him wanted to refuse on principle, for being abandoned, or because Bucky thought he could just show up and have Steve. The thing was, he could. Steve wasn’t going to say no, because it was _Bucky_ and he would always be waiting, no matter how long it took.

“Lemme finish putting away all this,” he grumbled.

Bucky had the gall to sound confused. “You sound grumpy.” 

Steve huffed.

“Yeah, well, I’m pathetic, and you’re a jerk. Makes a man a little less than happy.”

Bucky sounded pleased now, as if he’d accomplished something, when he said, “I remember you calling me that.” 

“You remember a lot, or a little?”

The answer was one Steve almost didn’t want to hear. He needed to, though, to know how to proceed. Especially if Bucky was going to make showing up for sex a routine.

“I don't remember you being pathetic.”

Sighing again, Steve shook his head. 

“Well, you used to have better lines than, ‘You, bed. Sex, now.’”

“But it’s you.” Bucky again sounded confused. “Why would I need new lines?”

Slumping, Steve’s head barely missed the cabinets.

“Way to kill the romance, Buck. This is why I’m pathetic: we both know I’ll say yes anyway. You’re a jerk because you’re not even trying.”

There was quiet for a while after that, Bucky making no sounds behind him. After a moment, Steve returned to putting away his purchases in that unnerving quiet. Milk in the fridge - nothing. Cereal on top - nothing. It was like Bucky was part of the wallpaper.

“But it’s you. I _know_ you. I wouldn’t come back for anybody else. Nobody else matters to me.”

Heart squeezing, Steve froze with his hand wrapped around a package of chicken. Bucky was still not himself, not completely, then. It was obvious that coming to Steve at all was a big deal, even if Steve didn’t understand why, or wanted more. There was a possibility that this was all Bucky could give, and Steve had already admitted he’d take whatever Bucky offered.

Tossing the chicken into the meat drawer, Steve glanced over at Bucky for the first time. He was standing closer than Steve expected, posture oddly military, hands behind his back. His face, however, was alive, thoughtful, gaze focused on Steve. 

“I’m just sayin’, it woulda been nice to hear you say that _first_ , not after telling me you’re only here for my ass.”

Bucky’s eyes lit up and he leaned forward.

“Can I have your ass?”

Rolling his eyes, Steve tossed steaks after the chicken.

“Of course you can have my ass, you neanderthal.”

Bucky smiled for a brief moment. It wasn’t as wide or as careless as the smiles from their youth, but all the sweeter for its rarity. Pulling one of his hands from behind his back, he made a vague gesture down his body. 

“It wasn’t my lines that worked.”

Groaning loudly - because _really_? - Steve tossed the last groceries into the freezer and turned around, crossing his arms.

“Try again. You might be hot, but that’s not it either.”

“See!” Bucky pointed at him. “You think I’m hot!”

Dryly, Steve said, “Obviously. Wasn’t the point, Buck.”

“You wanted me back, so once there was enough of ‘me’, I came back.” The tone was different. Bucky was suddenly serious and earnest and Steve had to swallow in a suddenly dry mouth. Dropping his arms to his side, he carefully approached Bucky who was still speaking. “It was supposed to be a joke. To make you laugh. The ‘you, sex, now’ thing.” Bucky shrugged awkwardly. “I’m sorry.”

Steve flushed, feeling even his ears go hot. It had been a _joke_? He hadn’t seen Bucky in weeks, and a misdelivered joke had started them off on the wrong foot? Great, Steve thought, it was just like him to get everything wrong. 

That didn’t mean he couldn’t fix things.

“I, um,” he cleared his throat, “Yeah, I didn’t think it was a joke.” He’d thought it was Bucky wanting nothing but his dick again, not Bucky trying to make him _smile_. Quickly, he took another step closer to Bucky, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. “Can I… touch you?”

Bucky didn’t move, but he said, “Yeah.”

Letting out a long breath, Steve reached for Bucky again. He slid both hands up his arms, feeling the contradicting cold and warmth of each. Biting his lip, he ran them all the way to Bucky’s shoulders, to his neck, until he held Bucky’s face in his hands. There were more wrinkles around his eyes now, but they looked softer than the last time he’d seen them. Bucky was less Winter Soldier than he had been, so whatever time he’d spent away had been worth it.

Gently, he held Bucky in place as he leaned in, pressing their lips together. At last Bucky moved, settling his hands at Steve’s waist. If he hadn’t held on so hard, Steve would have thought he didn’t want to touch Steve at all. Yet he was leaning eagerly into the kiss, sighing as Steve’s hands re-traced their paths down his arms. It was more like Bucky wanted to touch _too_ much, and was holding himself back, the tension radiating off him like a live wire. 

The soft, needy sound Bucky made when Steve swiped his tongue across Bucky’s lower lip clenched his hunch.

“Don’t hold back,” Steve whispered against Bucky’s lips. 

Desperate hands pushed beneath Steve’s shirt as Bucky’s mouth pressed against his again. They kiss that had been slow and gentle was now so full of fire Steve was gasping. Bucky’s tongue thrust into Steve’s mouth as his hands worked off Steve’s shirt, then his own. They broke apart for a moment for the cloth to pass their heads, and then Bucky was on him again, pulling him tight so their torsos were pressed together.

Then, as soon as it started, it stopped. Bucky broke away, arms tight around Steve’s back, pressing his face into Steve’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbled against his skin.

Still a little startled, Steve said, “Apologize to my dick,” before he could think it through.

Leaning back, Bucky bent down and said directly to Steve’s groin, “Sorry.”

Laughter bubbled up in Steve’s chest, bursting before Bucky had even straightened up again. He sagged in Bucky’s arms, shaking with laughter, and unable to remember the last time he’d found anything so funny. Or, really, laughed at all. Who would have thought that it would be a lame dick jokes that would get to him?

When he looked up, Bucky looked particularly smug. He certainly didn’t seem to mind holding Steve’s weight. In fact, he held him tight, fingers idly tracing his skin. Touch starved, Steve imagined.

“Wanna put on a show?” Steve asked, once he’d gained something like control again. “Sit on the couch and cuddle?”

“Sounds… _really_ good.” 

Bucky’s voice was wrecked, low and hoarse. Like Steve’s offer was something precious and unexpected. It warmed Steve more thoroughly than the heat lamps during his defrosting.

Keeping his arm around Bucky’s waist, he guided them toward the living room. 

“Remember if you still like sci-fi?”

Though Bucky shook his head, Steve felt himself smile brighter.

“Good, then I can reintroduce you.”

Bucky only flashed him that brief smile of his. The power of his reaction to that smile felt like being punched in the gut. Like his head was swimming and he couldn’t quite breathe right as butterflies erupted in his stomach.

Leaning over, he kissed Bucky on the cheek.

“I love you,” he murmured. Then worry and darkness swirled back into Bucky’s eyes, he quickly shook his head. “It’s okay. I just want you to know it.”

Another smile, short and gone, but it was all Steve thought he needed. He bundled Bucky onto the couch, wrapping him in his arms so they could touch as much as possible, and felt happier than he had in decades. Somehow, he was going to have to tell Natasha and Sam that he had the Winter Soldier back in his life, but that would wait. For that smile? He’d brave even Natasha’s wrath.

**Author's Note:**

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